


Forest

by ditrex



Series: Silly One-Shots [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Based on a Twenty One Pilots Song, M/M, Oneshot, happy christmas everyone!!, mild swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-16 00:29:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9265712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ditrex/pseuds/ditrex
Summary: If only our hearts would show our brains what's really right.If only our eyes would really meet.If only a spark of courage would spark up in that machine you call a hear and let words of love and meaning spill from your mouth.If only I could tell you what i really meant when i held your hand so tightly.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [light_in_the_sea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/light_in_the_sea/gifts).



> _hands held higher,_   
>  _we'll be on fire,_   
>  _singing songs that nobody wrote_

“I dunno.” Dave shrugs, kicking a mossy rock out of his way as he continues walking. There’s a boy alongside him. One with messy hair, pale skin, and a sweater much too big for his small frame. The boy stays silent for once, simply listening to his friend continue on. “It’s just something I like to do. It’s weird as shit, but like... it reminds me I exist, I guess. It reminds me the world exists. I can hear my voice just kinda... bounce around down there. Hitting every valley wall. Showing me it’s all real.”  
The boy nods, although he doesn’t really understand anyways.  
They continue on through the dense forest until they reach a small clearing, which is bare apart from the few tall rocks jutting out near the center. The boy watches as his blonde companion climbs up to the top, takes a deep breath, and he _screams._  
No one answered. Not even the usually noisy crows called back. The only noise was his own voice echoing back to him, bouncing off of the valley walls. Just like he had said.  
He stays put on his stone pedestal, fists balled at his sides. His eyes may be closed, but it was hard to tell, given the dark aviators that covered his eyes.  
“You do this a lot?” the boy asks. Dave nods.  
“Yeah.”  
“That seems... unhealthy.”  
“Better than keeping it all trapped inside.” He shrugs, keeping himself perched on the boulder.  
“I guess.”  
A crow calls out, mirroring the blondes scream with its own cry of anguish. Dave sits down on his rock, watching a flock of them soar overhead.  
“Do you ever think about dying?” he asks, after a moment of silence. He keeps his head down, staring at the patchy green and yellow grass that lined his rock. The boy looks up at him, slightly concerned.  
“What?”  
“Come on, Karkat, you know what I mean.”  
“I know what you mean. But I don’t like it.”  
“Why not?”  
“Because. It’s just... so much to think about. Too much. You never know what the end is going to feel like, you don’t know what you’d be missing by being gone, and you don’t know who you’ll make sad by being gone.”  
He nods, like he knows what his friend is saying.  
“The concept is kinda nice to me... I just image floating. It’s dark, and quiet, and-”  
“Cold?” The boy finishes, voice small.  
“No. Warm.”  
“I don’t like thinking about dying.” The boy starts once again, earning himself a glance from Daves direction. He felt a little ignored the first time he said it, and felt that he needed his voice to not just be heard this time, but to be listened to.  
“No?” Dave asked, listening.  
“No.” He shook his head, brushing away a lock of hair that the wind had blown into his eyes.  
“Not many do.”  
“Yeah. Wonder why.”  
Dave slides off his rock with a chuckle, relishing in the biting sarcasm his friend let out. He hesitated slightly before walking to the boy, offering his hand. The he looks puzzled, staring up at him from under a mane of messy brown hair.  
“What?” he inquires, eyes flickering back and forth between Dave’s hand and his shade covered eyes.  
“Come.” The boy did, reluctantly so, and used Dave’s body as leverage to lift himself up.  
Up, up, up they climbed, through the forest, hand in hand.  
It was silent, all but the song of the crows. They sang for the two, who couldn’t find the words to sing for themselves. It was  
peaceful.  
and  
quiet.  
“Your hand is-“  
“Warm.” Dave finished. “Yeah. Yours is too.”  
They continued up, eventually losing grips on each other’s sweaty palms, and instead simply locking pinkies.  
“Where are we going?” The boy asked. He didn’t get an answer. Not a verbal one, anyways. Dave was thinking what to say, but he didn’t know how to explain it.  
_Just my place._ he wanted to say. But his “place”, as far as Karkat knew, was at home, and home was loud and hot, too hot.  
_My thinking place._ sounded better, but the two boys could only go with being serious for so long, and he was quite sure that would be returned with something along the lines of _Wow. You, thinking? Never thought I would live to see the day._  
And Dave would snort and shove him, even know that would frustrate him beyond belief.  
So Dave stayed silent, pinkies interlocked with the boy he would no doubt mutter “no homo” to once his serious act had worn off, and they were back to being bros, and not  
what  
this  
was.  
This was nice. This was warm, and quiet, and he felt like he was floating when he was with him, but he couldn’t feel like that, because that just seemed to be a romantic fantasy about dying.  
What it really is.  
And he couldn’t have romantic fantasies about his best bro, even know his best bro wanted it too. Too bad his best bro didn’t tell him that. They were stuck in a cage of unspoken words and teenaged hormones that hid themselves deep within the muscley, blood-pumping sacks they called hearts. These machines made by their bodies to power their brains, which powered just about everything. These machines that desperately ached for their flesh prisons to hold onto one another and whisper into each other’s hair about how much they both mattered to the world, about how much they mattered to one another. But they couldn’t, because as a mutual friend once put it, “That shit’s gay.”  
They didn’t know how to describe their love. They knew it was hidden deep inside, and they knew it was love. But it wasn’t fully romantic, nor was it a concept that they knew both were aware of. It seemed to flutter back and forth between “I want to hold you and help you” to “I want to melt into your touch and feel your lips on mine.”  
Of course, those feelings were never spoken. They wouldn’t be spoken for a long, long time, and when they finally would be spoken, they would laugh, and press their foreheads together, right at the same spot that Dave would lead them to at that very moment. It would be shared years in the future. But not many. And they would ignore the stares that had begun to disappear from society as a whole, and they would stop talking about that upsetting subject of death almost altogether. But not completely.  
Dave lead his friend he felt so much love for up to a cliff side, and they gazed out together into the sky. The sun was setting, the sky was pink, and the world was alive. It was alive, and warm. And they sat, hand in hand, silently. There were no words that needed to be spoken. It stayed quiet for a long while, until Dave started to hum. It was a small sound, but it was loud enough to drown out everything else that threatened to ruin their silent scene.  
“That’s pretty.” Karkat decided to announce, his voice small, but not scared in the slightest. “What is it?”  
“Dunno. Never heard it before.”  
Karkat nodded and leaned against his friend, his best fucking bro in all the land, his eyes dancing over the scenery before them.  
It was  
peaceful  
and  
warm.  
And their hearts were alive, no matter how much they made themselves think about dying.


End file.
